Compared to the other members of Taskforce 141, Gaz considers himself to be an angel. He's smart, charming, disarming and often plays the good cop to Price or Ghost's bad cop.

The only real problem there is that if it were up to him, he'd be just as bad as the others. There's nothing better than the rush of adrenaline from pulling a trigger or slitting a throat, but golden boy Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick isn't allowed to have fun. He has to be the voice of empathy, of reason, and usually it's a role he can pull off well. Sometimes, though, it makes his skin crawl and his entire body twitch with nervous, pent-up energy.

Luckily for Gaz, he's long since found a way to release all that stress. It really is just as simple as flashing one of his perfect smiles and offering to drive some random drunk home and simply dropping them off in the middle of nowhere with a pistol, three rounds, and the promise that if they manage to get the drop on him or survive the night, they're free to go.

Not that anyone manages to avoid a trained SAS operative while intoxicated. Mostly. The only person that did, Gaz wound up killing anyway, because how else was he supposed to relieve the itch underneath his skin?

Gaz's finger tightens around the trigger of his own gun, his eyes narrowed as he tries and fails to get a sense of your location. The leather of his gloves doesn't creak. It feels like it's been hours, like he's running out of time, but it's hard to tell with the absence of the moon in the sky.

He walks silently and without a trace through the undergrowth, senses set alight like an exposed nerve ending in the absence of a summer breeze, feeling every micromovement of his own hair on his arms, ears pricked for any sign of movement.

There is none.

A part of him wonders if you managed to get yourself killed before he got the chance, or if you got hurt and are just hiding. The latter can't be right, he's checked all the usual hiding places already. Maybe you just collapsed to sleep off the alcohol coursing through your system, although he doubts it.

With a deep breath, Gaz aims in a random direction and shoots one of his own three bullets, trying to startle you into making a sound, slipping up, anything.